


Maybe Not The World...

by Meisiluosi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Das Lavellan - Freeform, Goodbyes, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 13:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meisiluosi/pseuds/Meisiluosi
Summary: It's just been too many partings lately and this one hurts Dasahngaris the most...





	Maybe Not The World...

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a kiss prompt on tumblr. ('A kiss because I never want you to leave.')

Dorian wrapped up in a heavy coat and a woolen scarf, because the weather is foul and the wind from the Waking Sea comes at them with swarms of ice-cold prickles.  
Dorian outlined against the dawning sky, a beacon of colour and warmth in a fading world of indifferent silvers and greys.

Dorian smiling, somehow.  
  
Das can’t muster the strength. For the first time in months, he’s run out of smiles. Even fake ones.   
  
‘Take good care of yourself, Magister…’ he says, brushing a non-existent speck of dirt off Dorian’s shoulder. Then he adjusts his scarf. And the collar of his coat. All the time staring anywhere but into Dorian’s eyes. He doesn’t want to fall apart in front of him. It’s bad enough he can’t send him off with a smile. 'I expect a detailed report as soon as you arrive, you hear?’

It’s not the end of the world. Of course it isn’t.  
For Dorian it’s a beginning of sorts.  
But Dasahngaris’s own horizon feels strangely incomplete and the future seems a bland, hollow thing.   
Maybe not the world – but something ends here. And it ends for good.  
  
Since the Exalted Council, it’s been troops disbanding, banners going down, lights and fires going out and windows going blind, keys turning in locks for that one final time before rust starts taking over, the rattles echoing so much louder in the silent, emptied halls.  
And friends scattered into the winds - following their own paths, pursuing new directions… Leaving.  
He’s always had trouble with growing too attached, too quickly. All these goodbyes and farewells and  _it’s-been-an-honour-to-fight-alongside-yous_  have drained him.   
He masks it well, for the most part.

'I’ll so miss looking at you…’ Dorian says.

It occurs to Das he won’t see him for a while, so he finally looks into Dorian’s eyes. And he finds the smile he was looking for. It’s a dozen shades of not happy. But it’s a smile. A genuine one.

'That’s just the first thing of many,’ …a kiss on the corner of Dorian’s mouth… 'Many,’ …a light peck on his lips, an arm sneaking around Dorian’s waist… 'Many things you’re going to miss.’   
'Amatus… You’re impossible and I wish I had never met you.’  
'Oh, do shut up,’ Das mutters against Dorian’s lips – and kisses him properly.  
  
The kiss burns, slowly, deeply, with everything Das would like to say but can’t, because there is so much and no words for it – and so little time.

It keeps burning on Dorian’s lips long after he’s crossed the Waking Sea.   
The warmth wears off, eventually.   
The sting never does.


End file.
